What If Volume 1: Crescendo's Decision
by AbhorsenSabriel87
Summary: First in a series of "What If" scenarios. Volume 1 - Crescendo has to make a choice while the others arrive too late; give Waltz Polka... or something else of equal value. Lemon warning.
1. Goodbye

Hello everyone! :D This is AbhorsenSabriel87 back again with more Eternal Sonata insanity! I had this thought a while back, a set of "what if" predicaments that _could_ have happened during the Trusty Bell story if a few things happened. This, my adoring readers, is the first of those "what if" scenarios.

What if Frederic's group caught up with Crescendo too late after leaving Baroque?

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: _Eternal Sonata/Trusty Bell: Chopin's Dream_ belongs to Tri-Crescendo, Bandai-Namco, and other related companies.

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"After we get over this ridge, the rest of the way will all be downhill." Crescendo stared hard at the tunnel that led through Mt. Rock, one of the many dividers between Forte and Baroque. Princess Serenade stood at his side, humbled and afraid of what was to come. He could see it in the concerned expression in her pixie-like face, the quavering in her young voice.

"Yes, we're almost in Forte territory," he stated, his voice grave and calm. "From this point on, we should be especially careful not to reveal who we are." The tiny woman to his right gave a small nod, and the two walked through the tunnel, straight into the old Mt. Rock mining sites. Now that they were in Forte, the summer sun made the thick white cloaks that they wore extremely warm, and the hike was making the prince very uncomfortable. He would like nothing more than to have these negotiations take place in Baroque under the watchful (if eccentric) eye of his father, King Lute. However, he knew Waltz would never agree to it. He'd known the young man since they were small, even if they rarely saw each other. He wished he could understand why Waltz hated him so much, why he held just an utter contempt for human life in general… and yet, at the same time, why he sent his cousin to become his enemy's bride-to-be.

He gave a small sideways glance to Serenade. He'd fallen for her the moment she'd stepped through the castle doors, even if she'd hated him as much as Waltz did at first. He was certain by now that his patience and adoration had melted away the icy bars that kept her from loving him, but he still wasn't sure if she loved him like he did her.

To be honest, he wasn't sure if _he_ still loved her like he did…

"Well, well, Prince Crescendo," a light voice called as they exited once more into bright sunlight. The golden-haired prince squinted in the bright light, raising a hand to shield his adjusting eyes as a violet-clad young man approached him, a dragon-mounted elderly gentleman standing alert a pew paces behind. Another dragon stood at the ready behind the younger man, and Crescendo lowered his hand, staring in conviction at the approaching figure.

"Count Waltz…" The addressing of the young man came breathlessly from the young woman next to him, and Crescendo stepped forward as the younger man smiled darkly at him, the expression oddly befitting for such an angelic-looking person.

"It would have been terribly rude of me to make you come all the way to Forte Castle," the blonde stated, his voice taking on a cruel, mocking edge for all of it's formality. "So, I thought I'd meet you halfway." His smile was one of absolute politeness, yet brutality dripped from it venomously. Squaring himself, Crescendo stepped forward, moving in front of his betrothed subconsciously, as if to protect her with his larger frame in case something should go wrong.

"Count Waltz," he called out, his voice sure and strong, "as a representative of Baroque, I assure you that we've no desire for bloodshed. I came all this way because I hoped I'd be able to negotiate with you. I don't want to make my people suffer under the threat of war any longer."

Waltz only smiled at him as his advisor, a man Crescendo knew from various court proceedings as his second-in-command Legato, answered him instead. "You seem to be a noble prince who cares about his subjects." His voice was deep and smooth –rather grandfatherly, in the prince's opinion- and completely neutral. However, the expression on his face was once to almost scoff at the Baroquen's thought of peace. "However, I am afraid we cannot give you a response without any kind of guarantee from your side. I'm sure you can understand."

This in no way swayed the prince, and with a motion of force, he challenged back, "I'm turning myself over to Forte. If that is not enough for you, Baroque is prepared to consider terms of surrender to Forte as well." He paused for only a moment, glancing back to Serenade before looking Waltz directly in the eye from his place ten yards away. "In exchange, I ask for assurance that you will not harm Princess Serenade, the people helping Andantino, or the citizens of Baroque in any way." He looked off for a moment, almost grieved.

"Above all else," he stated, his voice soft and gentle while still reaching the ears of the opposing nation, "I want to prevent the killing of innocent civilians in needless conflict."

Silence came for a moment, then the Prince felt a hand on his arm. Turning slightly, his eyes widened as Serenade stepped forward, looking imploringly at the Count. Imploringly, yet also with resolve.

"Count Waltz, listen to me," she stated firmly, her voice becoming increasingly stronger as she spoke. "All this time, I have kept a close watch to make sure that Baroque made no move. That they never invaded Forte. And I was fully aware that by doing this that I was lending my support to you and to Forte." Her words left a stab in Crescendo's heart, a pang of betrayal he knew would hit home one of these days but had preferred not to believe. _So, it is true what that message said,_ he thought sadly. _Serenade is a spy for Forte. I should have known before, but I was too blinded by love._ He mentally shook himself to continue listening to her speech, hoping he could help strengthen her arguments if necessary.

"But through it all, I believe I was following the correct path; because I thought it was the best way to prevent a war." She bowed her head slightly, as if ashamed. "Eventually though, I realized something. A stalemate is not a solution. Standing still does not solve anything." Looking up, a fire seemed to blaze defiantly in her violet eyes. "For things to change, one side needs to take a step back."

Legato seemed to scoff for a moment, answering indignantly (for his lack of expression), "And so you're saying that Baroque has taken a step back?"

"It requires much more courage to take a step back than it does to take a step forward," she argued. "Would you not agree? After all, there is no guarantee that there will be ground to stand upon." She switched her gaze from the advisor to her cousin, her gaze hardening slightly. "Count Waltz, please negotiate with Baroque, and then perhaps we can step forward together in peace. It should be clear to all concerned that continuing with this mutual animosity benefits no one in the end."

He was proud of her. Plain and simple, he was proud that she would stand up to her cousin like this, a man who could easily have her executed or simply vanish. She was helping him try to achieve peace, and that made him happier than anything else she could have done at this point.

A chuckle came from the opposing leader, causing Crescendo's gaze to return to Waltz's own glittering, malicious violet one. "But you see," he stated smoothly, grinning almost viciously at them, "any threat posed by Baroque is no longer a concern at all. And I have even less interest in Baroque's simpering prince." His gaze instantly hardened and he spoke directly to Crescendo, threateningly. "The only thing we're interested in right now is that girl."

"What girl?" Serenade asked, confused.

"He means Polka," Crescendo supplied, keeping his gaze even with Waltz's own. "She's the one who can make the agogos glow." Hardening his stance, he added, "However, I think you will find getting her to you will be difficult. I will not sacrifice the life of an innocent, even if it will prevent a war."

"You people don't quite understand the situation." A sneer formed over the younger leader's face, a cold and ugly look that spoke of endless exposure to the same look in his life. Quickly, however, it cleared and a look of disinterest formed over his young face. "Do you honestly think you have any say in the matter? How unfortunate." Brushing some invisible dust from his gloves, he continued, "And just as I was about to respond to your little bid for peaceful negotiations, Crescendo." Looking elsewhere, his voice changed to a form of complete indifference, as if they didn't matter to him at all and he was forced to explain this to small children.

"You will hand the girl over to me immediately. Because if you don't…" He let the threat hang in the air, giving an air of complete superiority over the two royals.

"…You're dead. And so are all those people you so begged and pleaded me to leave alone."

"…" Silence followed his words, heavy and thick in the dry mountain air. Crescendo kept his gaze, but he knew in his heart he would have to do something drastic. He'd either have to give up Polka, or his people would suffer.

Or maybe…

"I have a better offer, Count Waltz." He stood tall and defiant, his expression hard and passionate. "Miss Polka is indeed in my care within Baroque Castle, that I will not deny. And I will also agree that it is fully within my power to give her to you."

"Yet, you have a disagreement?" Legato stated, his dark eyes narrowing.

"I cannot let an innocent be sacrificed for the sake of a false peace." He walked forward, closing the distance between himself and Waltz, watching closely as the younger kept his eyes locked darkly with his own. When he came within five feet of the young man, he paused, looking over his features, trying to read his expression and, perhaps, even his soul.

Then, without warning, he knelt before him, bowing his head while resting on one knee. "I surrender myself, Waltz," he stated softly. "Myself, as the Prince of Baroque, a White Knight, and a man. So long as you do not continue your conquest, I am yours unconditionally. You may do with me what you wish." He waited, feeling the seconds tick by with an agonizing slowness as Waltz seemed to think it over above him. He was only barely able to contain a twitch as the younger finally spoke up with a light laugh.

"The Prince of Baroque, surrendered unconditionally into my capture, you say?" He chuckled for a moment, then pulled Crescendo's chin up, eyes glittering maliciously behind a vindictive smirk. "Fine then, I accept." Snapping his hand away, he stepped back a few steps and bowed mockingly. "Please, right this way." Standing, Crescendo walked with Waltz over to the dragon's back, climbing on as it bowed for its master. Giving Serenade an apologetic and heartbroken gaze, he remained still as Waltz jump on in front of him, pulling the dragon to rise into the air.

_Goodbye, Serenade. May you live peacefully in Baroque. I'm sorry I may never see you again… ever._ The wind rushed through the air, billowing his cloak around him and eventually unhinging the clasp as the dragon's wings lifted them into the blue sky. He shut his eyes to prevent flying dust and particles from irritating his eyes, and soon the uneasy feeling of flying began to form within him.

"Crescendo!!!" Opening his eyes to a squint, the Prince looked back over his shoulder to the slowly departing ground. The group that had formed around Andantino's leader looked up at him, horrified as the dragons flew further and further away. His eyes locked onto Jazz, on the expression of fear and worry that crossed the soldier's face. Regretfully, he turned away, closing his eyes against the sudden burst of speed the dragon took to fly back to the Forte capital.

_I'm sorry. This is the best way, my friend._

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Aaaaaaaaaaand there goes chapter 1! Hope you enjoyed! :D


	2. Waiting

All right, everyone! This is the second chapter of this silly "what-if", and things are about to get a little more intense! Get ready, y'all!

Disclaimer: I do not own _Eternal Sonata/Trusty Bell: Chopin's Dream._ I really wish I did, but that is neither here nor there.

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Alone in a dark, damp cell of Forte Castle's dungeon, Crescendo waited solemnly for Waltz (or one of his guards) to walk down those steps and relay to him his fate. It gave him time to think, ponder exactly what Waltz would have in store for him when he finally came to a conclusion. It wasn't too hard – the Count was rather notorious for his ability to "break" captives, if the need arose. Or if he felt in the mood to torture someone. Whichever was the case at the time.

_Should I really have done that? Surrendered myself __unconditionally__? Was that __truly__ the only option I had?_ Shaking his head, he scolded himself. _Of course it was. Had I not done so, he would have simply killed us where we stood. Or left, either to attack Baroque or gather forces so that his victory would be further assured. Or both. Likely both. My own surrender was the only way to protect everyone… Serenade, Andantino, Jazz, Polka… My sacrifice will either be the spark to ignite the fires of war, or the ice to quench the thirst for bloodshed. Besides, who is to say that Waltz will kill or torture me? He may well simply use me as a bargaining chip to hold over my father and Jazz, to force the hands of Baroque and Andantino._

With a sigh, he stared at the diminutive amount of light filtering through the small, barred window behind him at the very top of the cell's wall. _I only wish this to be resolved with peace. If my life is the highest price to give, I will not hesitate. More is at stake than me, and I'll be damned if my cowardice costs a single innocent life!_

The sound of padded feet coming down steps reached the prince's ears, and he snapped his attention to the front of the cell once more, standing as the elderly Legato came into view, flanked by two Fortean guards in full battle arraignment. Amber eyes narrowed at the man, but he relaxed his posture and stood nobly, just as he'd been taught many years ago. "Lord Legato," he stated calmly, respect reflective in his stance and tone. "What a surprise. I expected to be brought before the Count."

The man sniffed, his mustache twitching slightly to the left as he did so. "In due time, Prince Crescendo," the old man stated firmly, his voice still carrying little emotion. "Count Waltz wishes to review his options before speaking to you. Until then, I am to partake in your company and establish your motives for this retreat."

Almost unable to keep the wry tone from his voice, the prince replied, "Quite the contrary, Legato. This was no retreat – it was simply a parley for negotiation at Count Waltz's discretion. I have no intent of backing down or bowing at his feet. Simply of coming to a peaceable conclusion between our nations."

"If that is your decision, Prince Crescendo, then we have no need for negotiation," Legato stated coolly. "We shall simply prove you the martyr you portray yourself to be and slaughter your people as indiscriminately as our own. Though, unlike for ours, yours will be swift and brutal, I'm sure. They will suffer, but not for too terribly long."

Panic threatened to overcome the prince, but he clenched his jaw and forced it back. "I would find that to be a very unwise decision on your part, Legato," he stated soundly, determined to deter the man. "My people may be peaceable, but I assure you that it will not last long in a true war. Please, let me negotiate with you – I do not wish any harm upon anyone in either of our nations."

The look of scorn almost made him wish he wasn't behind bars. Almost. "And you believe that you have a solution that will benefit us? We will not settle for anything less."

"All I wish for is peace. For that, I will pay almost any price."

"'Almost' meaning anything but the girl."

"I will not allow her to be your captive. I will take her place as long as that is necessary."

"You? But Prince Crescendo, you do not have what we _want_. What makes you think that _you_ will suffice?"

"Because I have resources. I have a country full of people that would do anything to have me returned safe and sound. I am the sole heir to the Baroque throne, and thus my father's hands are forced with this decision. The woman I love is a cousin of the Count, and is as unwarlike as I. My best friend is the leader of the rebel group that has plagued you for years."

"All good reasons for a ransom, I suppose-"

"I am not finished." His eyes glinted harshly as he stared down the other man and continued. "All of these, yes, are good reasons to hold me captive for ransom. However, my power is its own. As a White Knight, I also hold a vast array of knowledge… including long since unwritten alchemy and Arcana. I could aid Waltz in whatever he sees fit, being it helping or destroying his people, acquiring power, or simply being a tool. Whatever use he has for me, I will fulfill it to the best of my ability, so long as my people will be spared any cruelty."

Silence met his words, and the older man sniffed again. Saints, he wanted to tear that mustache off his face…

"Is that all you have to say, Crescendo?"

"…It is."

"Then I shall report to the Count with your recommendations. Have a bit of patience while I confer with him." He nodded to the guards and turned, the trio departing and once more leaving the Prince alone in the dark, dank dungeon. With a hefty sigh, Crescendo resumed his seat on the stone tablet serving as a bed, bowing his blond head in exhaustion.

_And so… we wait and see…_ Looking up, he stared at the ceiling, wondering if the Count was going to listen to him…

…Or if by tomorrow, his body would be shipped back to Baroque without his soul occupying it.

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Well, there we are folks! Hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you next time with another installment! :D


	3. Dinner

Why hello thar! Back for more, I see! Well, don't worry readers-- another chapter of this "What if" is finally completed! :D So, ON WITH ZE SHOW!!!!!

Disclaimer: All characters portrayed in this chapter are under copyright of teh Tri-Noms (aka Bandai/Namco and Tri Crescendo).

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Waltz mused to himself about what he'd overheard in the dungeon. It amused him greatly that the prince was so forth-coming with all that information. Not only that, he seemed just so _passionate_ about protecting his people. It seemed he'd misjudged the man-- he wasn't so much a coward and self-sacrificial as he was aware of his people's general need and safety.

Even still, he was a coward. A coward who deserved the hatred Waltz had for him and his people.

_What a pathetic nation that they would rather retreat and compromise than defend themselves,_ he thought coldly, slouching deeply in the throne. The room around him was lit faintly by sunlight; however the heavy drapes and dark colors of the room sealed everything in the perpetually blood-colored dimness. The room was not as vast as the Grand Hall of Castle Baroque, but it was certainly just as staggering. Unlike Crescendo's home, however, rather than inducing awe at the crystalline beauty, it forced upon visitors a sense of dread and deep terror.

It suited Waltz's purposes well enough.

_How cruel is Fate to the man that the sole prince of my greatest enemy would come willingly to my stronghold?_ he pondered, amused greatly at the thoughts. _He knows well my methods of retrieving whatever I want from people. But I wonder-- would a White Knight be unaffected by the usual methods of torture and brainwashing? I would assume that any one of them would… but would the prince have gone through such a regimen? I doubt it would have been allowed by the Queen for her over-protective nature of her heir. _Smirking, his mind traversed over the number of people whose bodies and minds he'd torn apart and pieced together within the walls of Crescendo's current residence. Oh, how'd he'd enjoyed watching them all crack-- they provided such valuable services to him over the years…

_Ah, but why risk the chance that he __**has**__ gone through the training?_ A sudden and rather different thought appeared boldly in his mind, causing the smirk to deepen into something absolutely demonic on such an angelic face. _Oh… I think I know what will break that despicable prince. This should prove to be very entertaining._

((Later))

Crescendo paced up and down his cell, having counted the paces around the room over a dozen times now. All he'd heard all day were the sounds of his own footsteps echoing in the dark hallow-- no guards came for him at all, not even for meals, and Legato and Waltz were nowhere to be seen after that brief meeting earlier that afternoon. Now, the sunset dropped the cell into almost pitch darkness; the stones, he figured, were only visible due to the fact that he'd grown accustomed to the lack of light throughout the day.

It didn't make him feel any better about being here during the night. No torches, no witnesses… it simply did not bode well.

Before the eastern skies turned completely black, however, he heard footsteps tapping lightly down the stone stairwell, and his posture straightened. His training as a Knight would aid him-- much to his mother's dismay, he'd demanded to be put through everything the others had, even to a greater extent. He knew that he would be the most likely to be captured among his kin, and thusly had been trained in resisting torture along with the best of them. He only hoped he would last as long as it would take for his compatriots to arrive and take him back home. If he knew Jazz, it wouldn't take very long.

Still. Pain is pain. He just had to tough it out until the end. Provided Waltz didn't just kill him first.

A flicker of firelight accompanied a shadow down the staircase, and Crescendo braced himself for the light by glancing to the side of the stairs. He did not wish to be blinded by the torch as its bearer came into view.

Once more, the visitor was Legato, however this time he was unaccompanied. He walked to the cell, looking very much like death itself. Or, perhaps that was the prince's imagination in his apprehensive state. Either way, he was still very creepy.

"Prince Crescendo," he stated, his voice almost perverse due to its normality despite the deep shadows that made his face more unsettling. "Our apologies for your forced accommodations."

Crescendo blinked. _…What?_

The old man continued. "We have decided that since you are not a threat of assassination to the Count, and that you will likely not run away as honor-bound as you are, you are to stay upstairs in the main portion of the castle. As befitting, of course, of a noble guest."

This didn't settle well with the prince. Something felt wrong. But, he nodded anyway. "I appreciate the gesture, Lord Legato," he answered politely. "I accept the invitation."

"As you wish, Prince Crescendo." The elderly gentleman withdrew a wrought-iron key from the folds of his clothing and clicked it into the lock on the barred door, the metal making an eerie screech as it ground the mechanisms within. Removing the key from the lock, Legato replaced it into whatever hole he'd taken it from and pulled open the bars with another heinous shriek from the oil-deprived hinges. Holding the torch to the side, the servant stood aside, the lack of light casting even more unearthly shadows onto his face. "Please, sir, right this way."

Refusing to gulp with the horrendous implication of doom that simple phrase held, the prince strode proudly through the gateway, head held high and unafraid. He followed the old man upstairs, only their footsteps reverberating in the dark corridor. When they reached the landing and there were still no others in sight, however, Crescendo began to worry. _Where is everyone? Can Waltz have been so self-assured of his victory that he would have let his guards disperse? No, even he wouldn't be that cocky. Waltz is a known paranoid. He would never allow his guards to leave if there was even the remotest possibility of retaliation._

_But that still begs the question; where are the guards?_

Up the stairs and through the halls they walked, the walls adorned in gold and crimson flickering in the faint glow of lanterns. Each step, the heir to the Baroquen throne steeled himself, strengthening his resolve and determination. He would _not_ be broken.

Finally, the two ceased their expedition, stopping before a set of large double doors intricately carved with the formal seal of Forte. With one wizened hand, Legato pushed open the door, flooding their hallway with golden-white light. Squinting, Crescendo raised a hand to shield his eyes as Legato placed the torch in a bearer outside the door and stepped aside.

"Count Waltz awaits, Prince Crescendo. I do hope you enjoy your time here in Forte Castle." With a harsh yet light shove, Legato pushed him into the room and shut the doors, the clatter reverberating through the halls behind him. Crescendo, however, did not turn. His gaze remained focused on one thing only.

The smiling Count on the end of the long table before him.

"Well, well, Prince Crescendo," the blonde young man stated, smiling lazily at him. "I see you bear no hard feelings for your initial confinement." He rested himself in a lackadaisical fashion, head tilted to rest against his gloved fist, one leg crossed over the other in absolute comfort. "Come, sit," he stated, holding his other hand forth, motioning to a place set at his left hand. "Join me for dinner, won't you? You must be hungry."

The fact that he was might have quickened his step to join the younger man, but it did not hasten his journey towards being comfortable around the Count. He didn't trust him at this moment, and he doubted that he would ever do so again in the coming days. Still, he took his seat graciously after bowing to the man.

"Is there a reason you invited me to dinner, Count Waltz?" he asked plainly, deigning not to touch his plate until his "host" had. "I was under the impression that I was to be kept prisoner in this castle."

The laugh that exuded from that young man scoffed the idea, all the while perplexing the man into a more guarded frame of mind. "Now why would I do that, Crescendo?" Waltz stated, his violet eyes glinted as his mouth twisted into a mischievous smile. "You have already given me your _word_ that you will stay until our negotiations are complete. That you are mine to do with _unconditionally_. Are you saying that I should be wary of a possibility of escape?"

"Not at all," the prince responded, settling back in a gesture of acquiescence. "Forgive my assumption."

The smile became a bit lazier as he tilted his head away from the man, eyelids lowering slightly as if enchanted. "Oh, there's no need," he purred lowly. "I have no worries about anything of the sort. Please, help yourself to the meal. You must be famished."

"…Thank you, Count Waltz." With a grateful nod to the man, he removed the white gloves from his hands, setting them aside as his pale hands efficiently served himself, unaware that the violet eyed man next to him was watching every movement, memorizing its pattern and flow.

The meal itself was conducted in near silence, the two men simply partaking in the food before them. Its completion, thus, was a surprise when Crescendo spoke.

"Waltz… What exactly do you plan on doing with me?"

He didn't feel too well as it was - he assumed it was anxiety getting to him. His throat dry, he took his glass of wine in hand and drank a bit. The lush sweetness of the deep burgundy (almost purple) liquid registered in his mind as whistleberry wine, one of the few reds that the Prince drank due to his rather severe lack of tolerance for alcohol. It had a full-bodied flavor, a smooth texture, and a sweetness that hid the bitter nature of the debilitating chemical hidden within. One would not expect such a fruity taste from one of the sourest berries in the world, but something in the process completely changed its flavor, leaving a polar opposite taste for those in need of a dessert treat.

He supposed he should thank Waltz for the exquisite taste he obviously had, but he was too unsettled to at the moment. His face felt flushed, and his muscles seemed tense and shaky.

"Hmm? Why do you ask?" The words dripped off the younger leader's lips like warm honey, sugary and smooth. Amber eyes locked with amethyst, intensity and enigma against each other. "Do you not trust me, Crescendo?"

The flushed heat in his face grew warmer, and the prince hastily put his cup down, responding, "No! No, of course not!" However, the speedy action cost his balance, and the cup overturned onto the table, the deep dusky liquid spilling across the redwood surface. Flustered, the prince stood, stammering apologies as he picked the chalice up quickly, replacing it upright with more care. Before he could reach for something to mop the mess up with, however, the Count's gloved hand had wrapped itself around his wrist. Before he could look up, however, the table collided with his cheek. It took a moment, but Crescendo then realized that he had been pinned face-first into the spilled liquid by the younger man with his arm bent at an uncomfortable angle behind him.

"W-Waltz?" he sputtered, trying to catch his breath and stand. The grip held firm, so he relaxed a bit. Looks like he'd just have to play along. Before he could continue speaking, the younger man's voice spoke from behind him, a low and seething purr of domination.

"Look what you've done, Crescendo. You've spilt some of my best wine."

"Y-yes… I'm sorry. I'll clean it up ri-"

The grip on his arm twisted it into a further uncomfortable position, sliding the prince against the slick table. He could feel the wetness spread across his chest as it hit the stained wood and knew that the violet liquor had seeped into his garments. He tried once more to shift, but a sudden _snap_ and lancing pain through his thigh told him that the Count had just hit him with something. A switch, perhaps? But what would he be doing with that on his person?

"No, I will not have such a delicacy go to waste." He felt pressure against his back, then Waltz's hot breath in his ear as he whispered to him, tweaking his arm sharply. "Drink it. All of it."

Crescendo could only move his head slightly, staring at the smirking lips of the Count. He... he couldn't _possibly_ be serious… could he? "Count Waltz?"

With a sharp and sudden motion, the prince's head was slammed back into the table, making his mind reel for a moment as the blond man behind him demanded once more, "Drink the wine, or so help me I'll kill you and end this now!"

As much as Crescendo's dignity took a beating with this order, he knew how irrational and volatile the other leader could be. Even worse, he was in a position where he'd have to break his arm to move away from him. Swallowing his pride (and the unexplainable lump in his throat), he took a slight breath and muttered quietly, "As you wish, Count Waltz." Then, slowly and deliberately, he tentatively reached out with his tongue and licked at the table, tasting the sweet wine and the bitter-sour wood polish that gave the deeply colored table its shine. His face flushed hotly, and he knew that Waltz was gaining a rather large superiority burst from this as he complied. But anything was better than death at this point - death for him meant death for his people.

After a few moments, the burnished surface of the table was free of the berry liquor, the only remaining droplets attached lovingly to the lines and planes of the Baroquen's face and hair. Saints, he could smell the alcoholic beverage everywhere - it infested his pores and he knew he must've simply reeked with the foul odor. His breath hitched slightly and he struggled to catch it, slowing down his breathing to calm his racing heart. For some reason, he simply could not quell this heated anxiety in him.

A low chuckle emanated from behind him, and suddenly his arm was released, falling to his side as the pressure lifted from his back instantaneously. "Well done, Crescendo," Waltz's voice drawled, footsteps padding away to the humiliated monarch's right. He looked up, putting his freed hand onto the wood to stabilize himself as he stared at his captor, watching his every move with a bewildered eye. He dared not wipe the twilight liquid from his face yet - who knows yet what wrath the Count would incur with that.

Surprisingly, the young man turned to him and gave him a glance over, then shook his head. "My goodness, Prince Crescendo, you certainly are a mess," he stated, his voice a parody of anything sympathetic. "Please, allow me to offer my services in cleaning you up." With a deep bow, he motioned to a door to their right, no sign of a weapon anywhere. "My personal quarters are through that door with the bath on the opposing wall. Please, make whatever use you please of them, my Prince."

Crescendo could hardly do much but stare. First imprisonment, after that dinner, then the wine spectacle… and now _this_? What was he up to? Was he being gracious or cruel? The heir could hardly tell at this point, but he suspected a trick somewhere within these niceties and outbursts.

But… what choice did he have but to suffer through it?

Straightening up, Crescendo returned the bow slightly, determined not to let any of the drying liquid on his face to drop to the floor. "I thank you, Count Waltz," he declared warily. The devious smile on the angelic young man's face made it all the more apparent that something was wrong here, but the soothing voice that emitted from the ruler was relaxing enough.

"No need, Prince Crescendo. After all, you are our most honored guest."

_Oh yes, I am quite sure of that, Count Waltz,_ Crescendo mused darkly, hiding his thoughts behind a shaky smile. "Thank you again. Please, excuse me." Taking the excuse, he left the room, pulling open the single solid wood door and exiting into the adjacent quarters. Thoughts of the younger ruler occupied his mind as he made his way to the aforementioned bath hall, tugging on his collar in hopes to ease some of the suffocating heat that he could not seem to be rid of.

_What is Waltz trying to do to me?_

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Well readers, that's all for now! Stay tuned next time for a little more of this twisted little fanfiction! :D


	4. Withdraw

Well now, it seems that for once I'm actually getting inspiration to write! So, guess what readers? THERE'S ANOTHER CHAPTER HERE!!! YAY!!!

So, let's get ready to move it. x3

Disclaimer: All characters portrayed in this chapter are under copyright of teh Tri-Noms (aka Bandai/Namco and Tri Crescendo).

**WARNING!** Due to mature content, viewer discretion is advised. **CITRUS!**

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The bath certainly helped. Well, in some ways. The hot water made him feel less grimy, and he had scrubbed himself until not only the stain but the scent of the wine was removed from his person. Lying back in the deep pool that served as a tub, he could feel sweat dripping down his face and neck, his blonde hair starting to dry in damp clumps from the steam of the room. It was strange, though-- his muscles refused to relax from their taut anxiety, and his skin felt all the more heated. Despite resting here for the better part of a half-hour, he felt no more at ease or even _used_ to the water's temperature. It seemed just as hot as when he'd first drawn it, and the light current traced over his skin seductively, as if a merfolk of legend had infiltrated the crystalline liquid to tempt him.

Shaking his head, he banished the thoughts from his mind furiously. What an idea, indeed! This was not the time to be imagining things that weren't there! Besides, he'd best be getting out of the water anyway. Waltz was going to wonder where he was… but it was so warm and comfortable in here…

_No. I refuse to take his kindness for granted. I've been in here long enough._ Forcing himself up, Crescendo ran his hands over his arms lightly, removing any excess water before stepping out of the inlaid bath. He repeated the gesture through his hair and over the rest of his body, his trained hands ignoring the familiar and light scars that touched his form. They were from rigorous training and fights from long since past, things that he could only remember if he tried hard enough. Jazz would remember, he knew, but then again his friend had one of the best memories he'd ever seen.

Picking up a towel that had been left on a shelf against the bathroom wall, he dried himself from top to bottom, wrapping the slightly rough cloth around his hips before draining the water from the bath. He even walked to the outside wall and opened a window to let out the steam that had gathered from the heat. Almost immediately, he wished he hadn't. The night air was a bit chillier than he'd anticipated, and his heated skin reacted sharply to the change in temperature. Retreating back into the warmth of the bathroom, he turned to pick up his clothing…

Only to find that it wasn't there.

_That's odd,_ he mused, looking around curiously. _I could have sworn that I left them right here…_ With a sigh, the man shook his head. Not only his nerves, but his memory as well? Just how tightly did the Count have him wound!

Sighing again, this time in mild frustration, the Prince scoured the bathroom for a few moments. Lack of discovery, however, embittered him a bit more than he would have expected. _Perhaps I left them outside the room… I'd best check the Count's quarters._ Even though he detested the idea of going anywhere within Forte Castle in this state of undress, he supposed that simply going into the adjacent room would be fine enough. So, better off to it.

Placing his hand against the door handle, he pulled the door open and looked inside the room. It was dark, but it seemed to be deserted. Letting out the breath he had been holding, he looked around at the floor and surfaces nearby the door. Once again, it didn't seem that his Baroquen garb was anywhere to be seen. _Ah… now I seem to have lost my only set of clothing,_ he thought, disappointed in himself. _Perhaps Waltz took them to be cleaned… But then, why wasn't there a spare set left for me in that case?_ Mentally, he shrugged and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him after touching the pad on the inside that would turn out the crystal-lights inside the bathing room, plunging the room into darkness. He placed a hand against the wall, searching for a similar pad when the sound of a soft chuckle echoed in the gloom.

"Lost your way, Prince Crescendo?" The man froze, surprise over his features and ringing in his thoughts. He could have sworn the room was empty! Where did he--

A loud scratch previewed a sudden spark of light, then suddenly the Count of Forte appeared, leaning against the door with a portable lantern resting in his hand. The flame cast strange shadows over the young man's face, over the smirk that had firmly fixated itself into the doll-like features. He had slipped out of his rather complex violet outfit into something a bit more serviceable-- a loose shirt with short sleeves and a pair of nightwear slacks, as if he were about ready to go to bed himself. Still, Crescendo straightened, watching the other with wary intensity.

"I seemed to have misplaced my garments," he answered cautiously, wondering if this as well would lead to an outburst like what had happened at dinner.

Thankfully, the Count only shrugged, as if the matter unimportant. "I had Legato take them into the laundry room to be cleaned," he stated, walking over and placing the lantern on an end table next to the rather large bed that seemed somewhat out-of place in the cozy room. _Perhaps he likes his space…_

"Ah… thank you, Count Waltz," he replied, bowing slightly. "Are there, perhaps-"

"Please, sit down, Crescendo," the younger interrupted, motioning to the bed. "You must still be tired from the rather long journey you took these past few days." The smile that he gave was less than encouraging, but Crescendo once again nodded his thanks and sat (cautiously) on the edge of the bed, very acutely aware that he was still wearing absolutely nothing under the towel around his hips. That, and the room was a little chilly.

Strangely enough, his skin still felt flushed, hot even. As if he was sitting in front of a lit fireplace. It was starting to distract him, divert his thoughts away from his current situation. _Why am I so warm?_

He was so lost in thought he didn't realize until it had already happened that he was pressed against the bed, Waltz leaning with his full weight on his shoulders, arms pinning him while his leg had somehow found its way between his knees. Startled, Crescendo jolted, however the smaller man was stronger than he looked. "Waltz, what is-" The question was silenced by a stinging slap to his face. He didn't move, but stared in shock as the Count's smirk deepened into something twisted.

"Now, now, Prince Crescendo," he purred, reaching his hand back to caress the struck cheek with light care. "Remember, you told me that you were mine to do with as I please. Or have you forgotten?"

"Of course not!" Snatching the young man's hand, Crescendo frowned deeply, forcing himself up so that Waltz was no longer on top of him. This was rather unusual behavior for the Count under _any_ circumstance. "But I don't ever recall-"

"Just because you never specified doesn't mean that I'm limited to what you believed to be the only circumstances," the blond crooned, lightly tracing his other hand over the prince's chest, delicately paying close attention to the faint scars. Heat flashed through him, the coolness of Waltz's hand making him realize just how warm he was. A shiver ran over his spine involuntarily, and the younger man smiled in satisfaction, his eyes still watching as his hand moved in lazy patterns over the pale, heated skin.

"A bit sensitive, are we?" His voice was a low croon, a gentle drawl that demanded nothing but gave seduction and soft whispers.

"Waltz, this-"

"Is well within my rights. If you recall, the bargain was _unconditional surrender_." Looking up, Crescendo saw the hooded expression in the younger man's eyes and swallowed, leaning back slightly to distance himself from the gaze. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the Count sat up on his knees, rendering him taller than Crescendo as his fingers further played with the man's flesh. There was a tightening in the prince's stomach that he couldn't recognize completely… something more than anxiety, something different than fear (though he certainly felt both)…

As his grip relaxed and Waltz slipped his hand away, he began to understand what it may have been. Only when the other slipped his knee forward, parting the fold the towel and pressing himself against his inner thigh did Crescendo know what he felt.

It was pure, fiery, _need_.

And he had no idea why.

But, as Waltz pushed him back against the bed slowly, he almost didn't care. His protests went unnoticed as the count rested his cheek on his chest, continuing to stroke the exposed skin as if it were a drug of itself. Crescendo tried (and failed) to force back shudders as the hot, moist breath wafted over his muscles, then became cool in an instant. Just as Waltz had planned, it felt agonizing in a way that he never knew.

There was certainly no training on _this_ as a White Knight.

Rational thought nearly ceased when the roving fingers of the Count returned to his chest and stroked over a more sensitive tissue, the same that he'd been breathing on for what seemed like the past era. Teasing the small nub of flesh, Waltz crooned a wordless sound of enjoyment, obviously taking pleasure in… well, whatever he decided he was doing. More and more, Crescendo felt his body tighten and his throat caught, unable to make a sound as his own hands went to Waltz's ribs, resting against the covered torso gently.

Saints only knew how strange, how _wrong_ this seemed. But damn it all if it didn't feel so exhilarating, intoxicating…

Damn it, it just felt so _good_!

"Doing all right, my liege?" Crescendo opened eyes he had not realized were closed, heart pounding in his chest and gasping breaths ringing in his ears. This wasn't right. He had a fiancé… Waltz's own _cousin_ for Saint's sake. He couldn't let this keep happening. It wasn't right.

Moving his hands from Waltz's waist (how they got there and under the Count's shirt was a mystery to him) to his arms, Crescendo pinned them together and forced the other leader off of him with a slight grunt of exertion. Sitting up and whipping around, he fought to catch his breath, looking at the Count with wary insubordination. He was prince of a nation, the heir to the throne and fiancé to a beautiful woman. He had honor and a warrior's heart, tradition and law burned deeply into his soul.

He would _not_ succumb to this trickery!

"Keep your hands from me, Waltz," he murmured, his voice emitting a deep growl he had not realized it could take. "While I may be your prisoner of my own volition, that does _not_ mean that I will not fight your attempts, sexual or otherwise." The blond Count was glaring vicious daggers at him, but Crescendo didn't care for his childish wrath hidden beneath adult advances. Standing, he readjusted the towel at his waist and turned his back on him, striding towards the door.

"Good night, Count Waltz. I expect our negotiations to begin in the morning."

"You idiot," Waltz snarled back, clawing his way forward on the bed. "I only humor you with this bargain for peace! Defy me, and all of Baroque will be laid to ruin!"

Stopping at the door, Crescendo placed his hand on it firmly, glowering back at Waltz. "Once, I may have believed you," he muttered coldly. "You may yet still attempt to destroy my home. But I assure you, Baroque has more power than you will ever imagine." Jerking the door open, he flung it wide enough to walk through and stormed out. "Good night, Waltz. Maybe you'll regain some sanity by morning."

And with that, he was gone, leaving the young Count burning with rage.

After storming away, Crescendo headed for the only place that Waltz might not expect to see him. Following the winding, twisting staircases, he searched every room he was able to open, finally coming upon the laundry room Waltz had mentioned earlier. True to his word, the clothes were on a line next to a large broiler, already dry due to immense heat.

_Heat…_ Shaking his head sharply, the prince snatched his pants from the line and donned them, feeling oddly tight as he fastened the buttons on the hip. Then, he reached up and withdrew the undershirt he'd been wearing prior (noting with only a slight amount of esteem that the stain was completely gone from the white fabric), putting it on as well. The towel he folded and set aside-- just because he was irritated at the Count was no reason to take it out on his hired help. Deciding that this was all that needed doing here, he left, going back out into the cold castle.

About halfway to his destination, it sank in exactly how detrimental this situation could be. He had just defied his oath of unconditional surrender by making his own ultimatums. Waltz could easily take that as treachery and have him killed, or simply start the war that could potentially kill thousands. Tens of thousands. He slowed his long strides to a thoughtful walk, stopping completely as he came upon the downward stairwell.

Was this really the wisest thing to do? Give away lives for his honor? Or perhaps give away everything he was in order to fulfill the fancy of a spoiled tyrant intent on plaguing the world with a devastating war?

…_What should I do?_

His skin tingled where Waltz had so tenderly rested his fingers before, and he still felt the deep thudding of his heart in his chest. The caresses had felt so soft, so sweet…

But how was he to know if it was really what he'd felt?

Unlike Crescendo, who had been brought up in the art of peace-keeping and just rule, as well as honorable combat and the ways of diplomacy, Waltz was a bit of a wild-card since before his birth. His parents, the previous Count and Countess of Forte, had seemed displeased with the idea of having children, at least that of the male variety. It was of their greatest ambition to create the perfect female spy to infiltrate the Baroquen Court as the prince's bride, thusly bringing power and wealth to not only Forte but to the Count's house as well. It was rather clear after Waltz's birth that his parents were displeased. Crescendo shuddered to recall a conversation he'd heard as his own mother and father spoke with the Count and his wife.

"_So, Count and Countess, how is your son? I am surprised to see that you are traveling again so soon after his birth."_

"_I'm afraid you must be mistaken, my lord. We have no children."_

The conversation had shocked the king and queen, as well as Crescendo himself. It made him worried for the son of those nobles, and his worry remained well into meeting the boy for the first time.

Unlike Crescendo, this boy had been taught to mistrust anyone he came across, familiar or stranger. And, of course, to despise Baroque with every fiber of his being. That much had been clear.

But… what if this wasn't the real Waltz? What if… what if this whole ploy was simply to have someone close, someone to take care of him… or maybe just _care_. The soldier part of his mind dismissed it as completely illogical, the diplomat as a bit too idealistic. But, for some reason, he couldn't get the idea out of his head.

What if all he needed was just a little comfort?

_Risking that is certainly a better idea than risking lives,_ he thought, making up his mind. _Still… do I really have the courage to do this? Can I really do this… for Count Waltz?_

Taking a steadying breath, the heir to the Baroquen throne turned back around and walked back through the corridors, uncertain but intent on his mission.

_I have to remain true to my word… Even at the cost of my honor and pride, I will uphold my word. Waltz… I'll do whatever you need, so please…_

He didn't know what he was hoping for as he stood outside that door, gathering his nerves for what was to come. Taking a deep breath once more, he exhaled and pushed open the ajar door, having no idea what was to come.

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Hahahahahahah! I leave you with a cliffie! Aren't I just _**EVIL?!**_ So, review and I will give you all the scene you want! Bwahahahahahaha!!!


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